Happily Ever After?
by littlebearcub
Summary: In an attempt to curb Prince Jace Herondale's rowdy behaviour, girls across the globe are invited to compete for his affection in a televised journey for love. It doesn't take long for tensions to run high as jealousy and media presence impacts upon both royals and competitors alike, yet a certain redhead might deliver the greatest shock of all.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello! I've been thinking about writing something like this for quite some time now and here we are...**

 **This is sorta a loose mash of The Batchelor and The Selection (I haven't read the series but I know the vague outline). Frankly this could go anywhere but I hope you enjoy!**

 **Cassandra Clare owns The Mortal Instruments, I merely have possession over the plot.**

* * *

 _jace pov_

"This is getting out of hand now, Jonathan!"

Jace heaved a sigh and slouched back in his wooden chair, propping his chin up with his hand. "I don't quite see the issue here. I'm not doing anything wrong." he replied pleasantly.

"Don't give me that crap," Stephen spat, slamming a cluster of papers down onto the table. "Look at this!"

Although he was all too aware of what these papers entailed, Jace leant forward and cast a golden eye over them. Stephen had obtained copies of every local newspaper; every paper had his face gracing the cover.

 **Playboy Prince Jace Herondale spotted out with old flame!**

 **Can't Be Tamed: Young Prince cautioned for 'reckless behaviour'**

 **Public call for stricter punishment for outlandish Prince**

 **EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW: "I slept with the Prince after he had sex with my sister HOURS before!"**

 **If we can't trust him on a night out, how can we trust Jace as our future King?**

"You're tarnishing our reputation!" His father's eyes burnt with gold hellfire. " _Nobody_ wants you in charge of this country; I sure as hell don't!"

"Stephen, please," Céline interjected softly, placing a pale hand on his arm. "We agreed you wouldn't lose your temper over this."

"Why aren't you pulling up Will over anything?" Jace retorted. "He's not exactly an angel either!"

Will was Jace's cousin and his on/off friend. They'd grown up together for most of their lives under a royal paradise as Princes of Idris, but as the direct heir Jace was next in line to take the throne. Due to that, Will had less media attention and therefore could seamlessly stroll through life as he pleased. While he didn't sleep around as much as his cousin, Will was a regular down the pub and drank heavily on occasion, frustrating his little sister Cecily immensely. Consequently, his heavy drinking sometimes resulted in drunken flings or fights.

"Will isn't next in line to the throne, Jace," Céline pointed out dryly. "You're twenty three; you need to start acting like it. I understand you're young and want to live a normal life, but you're taking your 'normality' too far. We need to know that you're responsible enough to rule Idris and so do your subjects."

The Herondales had ruled Idris for centuries with little complaint from its citizens. As far as they were concerned, Stephen and Céline were fine and fair rulers who carried themselves graciously. Even if he was as perfect as perfect got, Jace knew he had big boots to fill.

"Your Highnesses, if I may interject, I have a proposal."

Stephen sat back in his chair and fixated his eyes upon the fourth person in the meeting who had merely observed silently until this point. "Enlighten us, Magnus."

As Idris' biggest personality, Magnus Bane knew all there was to know about everything and anyone. He was the chief advisor to the royal family and was essentially their agent; he organised any public appearances and issued any statements on this behalf. He kept everything running accordingly and hadn't yet failed in his duty, plus he was well liked across Idris and the rest of the world.

Although Jace had almost forgotten he was there, Magnus was difficult to miss; he was the quintessence of flamboyancy. Today's outrageous outfit included a white shirt with a sparkly purple waistcoat and dark green trousers. "The issue here seems to concern the Prince's antics around women particularly. How could his image be softened?"

On the silence of the royal family, Magnus sighed dramatically and announced "With a _girlfriend_ , of course!" in a blatant tone. Céline's face suddenly lit up in complete understanding once she processed the other man's words. "Having a girlfriend would also show responsibility. We _really_ need that in you at the moment, Jace." she chipped in.

 _Girlfriend._ The very thought of having a girl hanging on him persistently both repulsed and excited Jace simultaneously. She'd easily be the media's new plaything; they'd scramble to find every detail about her, from how she liked her steak to her favourite colour. Growing up under the world's scrutiny from birth meant he knew a thing or two and frankly he wouldn't wish the constant vigilance on anyone. Equally, this girl would also have to gain the approval of his parents; in the Prince's experience, that was close to impossible. If anything, they'd pick a girl for him.

On the other hand, a girlfriend also seemed like a good idea. Underneath his seemingly endless layers of sarcasm and arrogance, Jace was a bit of an old romantic. From a young age, he'd always wanted to be able to properly court a girl like the way men of old did. Boy, his mindset really changed once he hit puberty. Gone were the days of roses and goodnight kisses; he'd been sleeping with any girl with a pulse since the age of sixteen.

"I'm not sure I would trust Jonathan to find a girlfriend," Stephen decided curtly after a while, curling his lip as he spoke. "We can barely trust him with anything nowadays - this could drag his name through the mud further."

Jace snorted, shooting daggers at his father. "Gee, thanks."

"This is where the main part of my idea starts to take form!" Magnus was growing alarmingly excitable and therefore worrying Jace in turn. "I've seen countless mundane TV shows where young individuals endeavour to find love through some sort of process. Rather than sending His Highness out, we could scout out some girls to compete for his affection. Obviously the Prince will have the final say, but if we televise this worldwide his reputation may rise up; it's likely he'll mature as the process goes on. We'll still need to figure the ins and outs, but what do you think?"

"I'm not convinced," the lionhaired prince sighed with a frown marking his face. "I don't like the idea of my 'quest for love' being broadcasted to the world."

"Oh Jonathan, this'll be easy for you; you've _never_ complained about your sex life being in the public eye," Stephen replied, his voice dripping acid. "I'd say go for it, Magnus. Send out scouts across the globe; there'll bound to be girls dying to get with you."

On his father's final words, Jace leapt up from his seat violently and slammed his fist on the table. "I'm retiring to my room. Don't disturb me." he spat furiously, turning on his heel and sauntering off. _This is going to be hell._

* * *

 _clary pov - a few days later_

"Mom, I'm home!" Clary called cheerfully, her voice echoing into the long hallway sombrely.

She was met by a faint "Hey Clary" which remedied her anxiety as she entered the living room. Jocelyn was sprawled out across the sofa with her glassy green eyes glued to the TV, but once her daughter entered she rewarded her with a gracious smile. "How was work?"

"Wasn't too bad," Clary replied with a shrug, setting her bag down on the floor. "Were you okay today? I phoned the doctor to order another prescription of meds."

"You're an angel." Jocelyn informed her affectionately.

Life hadn't always been this cruel to the Frays. Growing up without a father hadn't bothered Clary in the slightest; she only ever needed her mom. Jocelyn had been an exquisite artist and her daughter had inherited those genetics. People used to joke that paint flowed through their veins, though if someone had said that now Clary wouldn't have believed them. Her mother hadn't drawn or painted anything for years; she'd weakened considerably.

It had only been little niggles initially. She tired easily, but fifteen year old Clary had just assumed that it was part of aging. It was only when Clary found Jocelyn collapsed at the bottom of the stairs one afternoon that she accepted something was wrong. Since that fateful day, she'd looked after her mother day in, day out. This was all on top of her job as an art teacher at an elementary school; unsurprisingly she had scarcely any time to herself. Sometimes she did art commissions, but those were few and far between. Money was certainly tight, but they were managing. They had each other and that was all they needed.

"Do you want anything?" Clary queried, heading into the kitchen.

"I'm fine, Dorothea checked in on me earlier," Jocelyn told her, stifling a cough as she referred to their next door neighbour. "She sends her well wishes."

With a pastel green mug nestled in one of her pale hands, Clary had just started boiling the kettle to make herself a herbal tea when something on the wooden countertop caught her eye. Obviously Dorothea would've taken the post in rather than leaving it on the doorstep - it was usually junk mail or addressed to former occupants of the house - but there was something new today. On top of the pile of mail was a cream envelope; an envelope with cursive gold handwriting. Once she edged closer, Clary realised it was addressed to a Miss Clarissa Adele Fray. _Ugh._

Scowling at the use of her full name, she placed the mug down and picked up the envelope, twirling it slowly in her fingertips. She didn't have the faintest idea of who had taken the time to write her a letter (let alone know who'd even written it), but suffice to say she was completely bewildered.

After convincing herself it was genuine, Clary delicately turned it over and opened the flap, taking care not to damage it too much. Someone had clearly put in a great deal of time into its creation; it was a masterpiece in its own right.

Her inspection was soon interrupted by the sound of her phone ringing from the living room. Dropping the envelope on the countertop, she sped through into the room and picked up her bag, blindly fishing about in hope of finding it. In her own time Clary seized her phone on the eighth ring and held it to her ear. "Hello?"

"I think you now hold the world record for the slowest reaction to a phone call."

"Sometimes you're a real dick, Si," Clary sighed, wandering aimlessly back into the kitchen. "To what do I owe the pleasure, anyway?"

Simon and Clary had been best friends from day one of kindergarten and hadn't looked back since. They'd been through _everything_ together - the highs and the lows, the trivial and the crucial - and they still had their friendship to show for it. Simon worked in IT for an office, but like Clary he maintained a side-hobby playing guitar in a band. He was convinced they were going to break America one day, though that was mostly because his best friend didn't have the heart to tell him how awful his band were.

"Can't I spontaneously call my best friend?" Simon gasped in mock hurt.

"Well I'm actually in the middle of something." Clary replied as-a-matter-of-factly, her eyes flitting between the boiling kettle and the abandoned letter on the side.

"Ooh!" Simon's interest peaked. "Whatcha doing?"

"I got this weird letter," The young woman picked the envelope up again as if she was still in denial. "I think it's handwritten."

"Who even _writes_ letters anymore? We're living in a world of endless technological opportunity; why send a letter when you can pop someone a text?"

"Beats me. I've torn the envelope open but haven't read the letter yet because _somebody_ had to _spontaneously_ call me."

"Pfft, don't drag me into this, Clare."

"For your crimes, I'll read the letter to you."

"Hanging on every word."

Balancing the phone between her shoulder and her ear, Clary took the neatly folded contents out and opened the letter up. Her heart dropped as she inspected the letter. "It's from Idris. It's got the royal seal on top." she murmured aloud.

"Idris?" Her best friend shared her utter disbelief. "What is it?"

Clary proceeded to read the letter out with a shaky voice.

 _To Clarissa,_

 _On behalf of the Herondale family of Idris, I'm writing to you to announce that you have been summoned to the royal court. You will be staying at the palace as a distinguished guest of the royal family and will be for several weeks._

 _Although you will have most things provided for you during your stay, you are advised to pack a few personal belongings, such as clothing and entertainment. Technology is permitted but due to security measures you will have limited contact with the outside world, including family and friends._

 _A personal chauffeur will arrive to pick you up at 7am sharp the next morning prior to you receiving this letter. You will take a private jet to Idris and will be received by members of the court at the palace, who will help you settle in and grow accustomed to life with us. Naturally, the highest degree of etiquette and manners is essential, specifically in the presence of the royal family._

 _We look forward to receiving you in the next few days._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Magnus Bane_

"I guess you can't really pop a text to summon someone to Idris," Simon mused after a while, his voice unusually quiet. "Especially from _the_ Magnus Bane."

"I think I've got more questions than answers now." Clary whispered while she desperately tried to control her trembling body.

"It won't be anything bad, Clary. The royal court wouldn't request an audience with a total jerk," he reassured her. "Maybe it's a commission!"

"Either way I should probably start packing," she sighed, pouring boiling water into her mug and stirring the teabag round absentmindedly. "I'll call you later, okay?"

Before her best friend could respond, Clary hung up and continued to unnecessarily stir her tea. Endless questions were swirling in her head like a violent tornado. Why had she been asked to Idris? How long would she be there? How did the royal family know of her existence?

Most importantly, who would look after her mom?

With that in mind, Clary snapped out of her trance and headed out into the living room. Jocelyn had turned the TV off and was sitting up with her arms folded. "Have you been summoned to Idris?" she queried, fixating her emerald gaze onto her daughter.

Rather than replying, she handed her mother the letter and held her breath as she scanned every word. The older woman frowned. "This is unusually cryptic." she observed.

"I don't know what to do, Mom," Clary admitted, her voice breaking. "Part of me doesn't want to go."

"You've been officially summoned, Clary. You _have_ to go. Equally, as your mother, I'm telling you that you have to go," Jocelyn held up a hand to silence her. "This is the opportunity of a lifetime. Not many people are given the chance to step foot in the palace, let alone meet the royal family. I went to Idris a few times when I was a little girl and it's absolutely beautiful; the whole country is just a living canvas. You'll love it there, I promise you."

"But what about _you_? I'm not leaving you here alone!" Clary exclaimed adamantly.

Jocelyn's initially soft face was overshadowed by seriousness. "You've looked after me for seven years without a break in your entire life. I'm refusing to let you give this a pass, not when you've done so much for me. You're still young and I want you to live. I'll manage - I'm sure Dorothea will help me out while you're gone - and you'll be absolutely fine." She then gestured to her wheelchair in the corner of the room by the window. "I'll help you pack a few bits. We'll sort out what you're wearing for the journey, okay?"

* * *

It took them a short while, but the Frays managed to pack a suitcase for Clary. Most of it consisted of art supplies - paints, brushes and pencils to name a few - but she also packed a few homely comforts, like photographs and her favourite baggy sweater. In Clary's scattered mind, it was almost like she was moving out.

She was now sat by herself in her room, her eyes glued to her sketchbook as she added the final touches to her latest sketch of a pillar candle. She'd been working on it for about a week when she had the spare time, but admittedly she knew it wasn't her best work. _Maybe I'll have more time to concentrate in Idris._ she hoped.

Frustrated by her artistic incompetence, Clary put her sketchbook aside and heaved a sigh, rubbing her eyes with the balls of her hands. The realisation still hadn't sunk in yet; the whole experience was completely surreal. These things _never_ happened to her - an unassuming twenty two year old elementary school teacher from Brooklyn. What made her worthy of an invitation from the royal court?

Rather than dwelling on it further, she pulled her duvet over her and squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to find solace in sleep.

* * *

 **Poor oblivious Clary... she'll discover a bit more in the next chapter!**

 **I hope that was an okay first chapter! I'll try to update soon but I have impending exams and other fics that need an update :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: The feedback I received from the first chapter was probably the best I've received from an opening (thus far) so I'd just like to start off by thanking you all so much! I always appreciate knowing your thoughts so do let me know if you like/dislike anything, I'll do my utmost best to take your comments on board :)**

* * *

 _clary pov_

Clary was perfectly accustomed to waking up at the crack of dawn; it had come naturally to her, especially since she'd started teaching. Early mornings had embedded themselves into her daily routine and she relished in them. If she was early enough, she'd be able to see the sun rise over the Brooklyn skyline, casting an ethereal glow over the skyscrapers that she'd grown up around her entire life.

While she could see the first traces of dawn breaking on the horizon, she knew that she didn't have time to witness its beauty this morning.

Placing her cup of tea on her vanity table, Clary took a glimpse at herself in the blotchy mirror she hadn't been bothered to clean. With Jocelyn's help, she'd picked a soft pink skater dress embellished with a lace bodice and sleeves comfortably coming over her shoulders like a t-shirt. It was usually the dress she was for special occasions, so naturally she'd anticipated wearing it on learning that she'd be meeting members of the Idris Royal Court. Admittedly Clary was starting to miss her more casual clothes as she stared upon her freckled body, but she knew turning up in a t-shirt and shorts wouldn't perhaps be the best idea.

She sat down at her stool and picked up her hairbrush, teasing out the sleepy curls that had knotted themselves together through her broken sleep overnight. Gathering up her red locks, she tamed them up into a high ponytail, allowing one wavy strand to frame the right side of her face. Scarce makeup - a little mascara and a light dusting of foundation - gently rested upon her pale face, masking some of her freckles.

Clary had just finished putting the final possessions in her suitcase and a few additional things in a pastel green rucksack when a timid knock on the door echoed through the apartment. Knowing that it would be the chauffeur, Clary gathered up her bags and trudged out into the main hallway. She flung one pale brown leather strap from her rucksack over her shoulder and opened the door, where a friendly smile greeted her. "You must be Clarissa?"

She pulled a face at the use of her full name. "I go by Clary." she corrected him politely.

"My apologies," There was a twinkle in his light blue eyes as he chuckled. "We're not too different. I'm Lucian Graymark, but I prefer Luke. I'll be accompanying you today."

On initial impressions, Luke wasn't what Clary had been envisioning when she thought about her potential chauffeur. He looked roughly the same age as her mom, but like most people towered over her short stature. Inquisitive pale blue eyes hid behind black framed glasses, similar to those Clary associated with hipsters and geeks. The light breeze caught his dark brown hair, emphasising the uneven layers within. Despite acting on behalf of the royal family, he was peculiarly standing before Clary in tatty jeans, a tight fitting black t-shirt and a red and blue check flannel shirt draped over the top. If anything, he looked like he'd stumbled out of a garage.

When Clary reached down to pick up her suitcase, Luke put a large hand on her shoulder to stop her. "Allow me." he insisted.

Thanking him with a shy smile, Clary shut the door gently behind her followed him down onto the main road, where a black pickup truck was parked up against the curb. Blue tarpaulin was draped over the back, protecting whatever was in there from immediate theft and the elements. Luke headed towards there and started to untie the rope that held it down, glancing over his shoulder at Clary. "Feel free to make yourself comfortable in the truck. We'll get going once I've put this away," he told her. "Do you need anything?"

Clary's stomach growled loudly on que, making Luke laugh. "I can make a stop on the way for some quick breakfast,"

Once she'd got in the truck and buckled herself in, Luke soon leapt in and turned the keys in the ignition, adjusting his glasses. "I've got some CDs in the glove compartment if you want to select something to listen to." he offered.

Clary opened the glove compartment in front of her easily and took the collection of cases in her hand, flicking through them. "Bon Jovi, Led Zepplin, Prince, Nirvana..." She suddenly paused at one, raising a quizzical eyebrow. "Guilty pleasures?"

"I compiled that CD." Luke said proudly, not taking his eyes off the road ahead of them.

"Well now I _need_ know what sort of cheesy music you listen to," Clary exclaimed, stifling a laugh as she took the disc out of the case and into the player. "Especially since you're a palace poshy."

"I'm actually a mere commoner," he replied with an air of righteousness. "I didn't always live in the palace, surprisingly."

 _Stacy's Mom_ by Fountains Of Wayne filled the car, forcing pearls of laughter out of Clary. "As _if_ you like _this_ song!" she gasped through fits.

Luke raised his eyebrows. "And what is _so_ wrong with this song, Miss Clary?" he queried.

It took a few moments for the petite redhead to compose herself before she could muster a response. "I just didn't expect you to be into this sort of stuff."

"Once you've been in Idris for a few days, nothing will surprise you anymore." he replied somewhat gravely. Rather than questioning his suspicious tone, Clary opted to change the subject. "So what do you for a living then?"

"I'm head of the servant household. I'm basically in charge of keeping tabs on every single non-royal under the King's employment and representing their opinions in meetings," Luke explained seamlessly. "I also keep an eye on the younger royals; if they've got any issues, they're always welcome to vent to me about them."

"For somebody with such an important role I've never heard your name. Any particular reason?"

"Oh, the media don't care about me or the rest of the household," There was a trace of malice in his voice, but on the whole he was polite and plain about it. "Magnus is the only servant they're interested in as he's the royal spokesman. Otherwise, you only see the Herondales themselves or the other members of the court."

Clary chewed her lip thoughtfully, just as her phone started ringing from inside her rucksack. Luke paused the CD player, allowing the young woman to answer whoever thought it was cool to call her at this godforsaken hour. "Go back to bed." she grumbled.

"Hello to you too, Clare," _Simon!_ "You never called me back last night. Is everything okay?"

"Um, yeah, I'm fine," Clary wasn't even convincing herself with her pathetic voice, but she maintained it. "I'm on the way now, actually."

A moment's hesitation followed. "Call me when you get there, okay?"

"You're not my dad, Simon. I'm _fine,_ I swear," she laughed in an attempt to mask her anxiety. "It'll probably be late when I arrive anyway."

"If you're sure," Simon seemed unusually uncertain. "I'll let you continue on anyway. Call me whenever you can."

"Alright, bye." Clary hung up quickly with a groan, raising her hands to tighten her ponytail. Luke snorted in amusement and started playing the CD again. "Boyfriend?" he asked with a slither of concern in his voice.

"Worse." Clary sighed, leaving Luke to prompt "Brother?"

"Best friend," she amended. "I haven't known life without him; he's the family I never had."

"What family do you have?" the older man asked, drumming his hands on the steering wheel to the beat of the song.

"Just my mom. Dad's allergic to commitment," Clary replied dryly. "You?"

"My parents abandoned my sister and I in an orphanage when we were little. Being the older and more bossy one, my sister took charge," He laughed as he spoke, dropping a wink in her direction. "Don't tell her I said that."

"Will I meet her, then?"

"I'd like to think so, Miss Fray. She's a good woman," The truck suddenly halted in what Clary assumed to be a parking lot. "Breakfast's on me. What do you fancy?"

"I'll take whatever you're eating with herbal tea, please." Clary replied politely.

With a nod and a grin, Luke clambered out of the truck, leaving Clary to her own thoughts. The sun was peeping cautiously over the horizon now, painting the violet sky with vibrant yellows and oranges; if she had the time to, she'd paint it on a canvas with watercolours. She felt she needed to remind herself of what a Brooklyn sunrise looked like before she took the mysterious journey to Europe. While she trusted Luke and believed him to be a nice guy despite their short time together, he hadn't indulged in any details regarding why she'd been summoned to Idris. Thinking about the possibilities only made her more uneasy, even queasy to some extent.

It didn't take long for Luke to return, holding two brown paper bags and two coffee cups. He handed one of each to Clary as he got back in the truck, taking a sip from his cup. "Bacon and grilled cheese sandwich." he informed her, reversing the truck easily out of the parking spot.

"Thanks," Clary took a bite out of the toasted sandwich, savouring the warmth of it in her mouth for a moment before attempting to soothe her worries. "Can I ask you something?"

"Ooh, careful," he laughed. "I'll try my best."

She sipped some tea as she tried to jigsaw her frazzled fantasies into a comprehensible question. "Why am I doing this? Why am being forced into going to Idris?" she blurted out.

Luke's grip tightened on the wheel; she'd evidently crossed into dangerous territory that he wasn't willing to venture into. "I wouldn't say 'forced' as such, Miss Fray." he responded warily, clearly taken as much care with his words as she was. With that in mind, Clary knew she'd have to pull the sympathy card in order to stand a chance. "Luke, I was leading a perfectly mundane, common life up until yesterday afternoon. I came home to discover a letter from a celebrity telling me I'd been requested to be in the company of a royal family hundreds of miles away across the sea. While I'm being whisked away on this magical journey to a country I have zero connections to, I've abandoned my sickly mother under the care of our neighbour. I think I have _some_ entitlement in knowing why I've left her." she announced fiercely.

"I know you do, believe me. This isn't easy for me either," Luke sighed softly, running a hand through his uneven hair. "All I can say is that this isn't necessarily a bad thing. I'm bound under strict orders not to disclose the matter with you as it's currently top secret."

"You're not really making me feel any better."

"You'll know more once we land in Idris, I swear to you."

The drive was fairly quiet for the rest of the way; the only disturbance came from Luke's cheesy compilation.

Clary had almost dozed off in the sun's warmth until a large hand gently shook her. "We're here, Miss Fray."

When Clary fully opened her eyes, she was expecting Luke to have parked in a bustling airport car park. Instead, they were crawling across a desolate airfield in what appeared to be in the middle of nowhere, sending distress signals pulsing through her body. "What?" she asked weakly.

Luke let out a hearty laugh. "Don't fret, I'm not going to sell you off in a dodgy deal," he assured her. "As we're on royal duty, we couldn't exactly come in an airport without attracting media attention. If we're coming into any country via plane, then we try to find nearby airbases or fields to land on so we can subtly get out. The protection of us and them alike comes first; the same will go for you as a guest of the royal household."

Clary rose an eyebrow, but after how he'd reacted when she'd asked questions before she opted not to mention it. After all, Luke said she'd find out more when they landed, right? She didn't have a reason to dispute his words as lies.

Pausing the CD as he did so, the older man dropped his speed to a steady halt, his soft eyes flitting in Clary's direction. "If you get on the plane, I'll deal with this and be with you in five, okay?"

With a nod, she grabbed her rucksack and threw open the door, placing her foot cautiously on the tarmac. She felt like a baby taking its first steps; tentative, unsure, anxious.

The jet wasn't much to look at - plain white all over - but one thing that struck the redhead was the height of it. Luke looked like he was driving the truck into its belly, so there was evidently enough room to fit a vehicle and passengers. _Who paid for this thing? It's probably more valuable than my house._

She made her way over to the steps, halting midway up as she cast her eyes over her surroundings. This would probably be her last view of America for a while, and she didn't even know where she was. Dread gripped her body like a virus, forcing her legs into a spasm she couldn't shake off. To put it bluntly, she was shitting a few bricks; there was no going back now and she knew that.

Summoning all the courage she could, Clary encouraged her wobbly legs onwards, gripping the handrail for support. She almost felt emotional at the last step, but she couldn't let her nerves get the better of her. Like her mom said, this _was_ the opportunity of a lifetime.

As expected, the jet was luxuriously furnished for the privileged few who travelled on it. Wide black leather seats sat at large pinewood tables; for every table there were two chairs facing each other next to the windows. However, Clary didn't anticipate seeing a passenger already seated on the plane - a passenger who was probably about the same age as her. She was reading a rather fat book bound by red leather, leading Clary to believe it was probably a classic novel.

Noticing the arrival, the girl lifted her head and offered a smile. "Are you on this wild trip to Idris as well?" she queried, her voice carrying a distinctive trace of a British accent.

"It appears so." Clary responded with a sense of uncertainty.

With a gentle close of her book, the other girl rose from her seat and made her way over to Clary, holding out her hand politely. "I'm Tessa." she introduced herself formally.

"Clary," She took her hand and shook it once before releasing. "Did you get a letter from Magnus Bane calling you to Idris?"

Tessa nodded simply. "Yesterday. It was a bit inconvenient - I'm supposed to be going back to London in just over a month's time - but I'm sure I'll make up the time somehow," She proceeded to gesture to the seat adjacent to hers with one hand. "Do you want to sit together?"

"We may as well I suppose." Clary replied with a shrug, taking the spare seat and plopping her bag on the table. She was prepared to take out her sketchbook when Luke appeared in the doorway. "We'll be preparing to leave shortly, but you'll get a full announcement from the pilot once we're actually going. Alaric and I will be accompanying you in here, though if I'm honest we'll probably sleep most of the way." he explained.

With the assumption that Alaric had brought Tessa here, Clary proceeded to take out her sketchbook and pencils, catching the other girl's interest. "You're an artist?" she asked, seemingly impressed.

"Not a very good one nowadays; I'm hoping this visit might inspire me a bit." she explained with a rusty laugh.

"Honestly, I know how you feel," Tessa replied, laughing. "I'm a photographer; I'd love to do a shoot out there. Not many people get to see the walls of the castle so I think it would be really cool to get some photos."

Clary was partially relieved to talk to a person with a similar artistic mind to her. "What do you mostly take pictures of?"

"Oh, all sorts. I do weddings quite often, not to mention the occasional commissioned shoot. I've been out here for the last four months working on a few projects and picking up what work I can," Her blue-grey eyes drifted out towards the window, her irises pocketing sunlight. "I don't suppose you know why we've been summoned? Alaric was really shifty about it."

"So was Luke," Clary sighed in frustration. "I got told I'd know everything once we got to Idris, but something still seems a bit off about the whole thing. I've left my sick mom at home with an elderly neighbour looking after her and I feel terrible."

Pity overshadowed Tessa's initial kindness. "I'm sure she'll be fine." she assured her.

As the pilot's voice droned out over the intercom, Clary took her pencils out properly and chewed the end of one thoughtfully, pondering what to draw. Art had always been her refuge; now she'd have to rely on it more than ever to get herself through this.

* * *

 **The drama starts kicking off soon, I swear!**

 **Hope that was okay, sorry for the delay! Drop me a review to let me what you think! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I'm so sorry this update is so late! Got writer's block and I kinda had exams :(**

 **Onwards with the next chapter!**

* * *

 _clary pov_ **  
**

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are now beginning our descent into Alicante. Expect to land in the next few minutes. The time is currently 10:23pm and it's clear outside with a temperature of 12 degrees Celsius, or 54 degrees Fahrenheit."

The pilot's announcement awoke Clary with a start, snapping her out of her blissful reverie. Cooped up on the plane for eight hours had left her with few options, so she'd probably been asleep for most of the flight; there was only so much blue emptiness she could stare at before getting bored.

Tessa's stormy eyes were glued to the window, her jaw slacking. "Look at _this_ , Clary." she gasped.

Wiping her own tired eyes, Clary glanced out at the scenery and found herself equally rendered speechless by her first view of Idris' capital. Thousands of lights twinkled beneath them like fireflies dancing in the cool night air. It was too dark to make out any specific shapes, but she could just decipher a few winding spires that the city was known for; she imagined that they would be even more breathtaking in daylight. "It's crazy to think we'll be staying _here,_ of all places." she exclaimed after a while. _You were right Mom; this really is the opportunity of a lifetime._

"Oh, this is only the beginning. We haven't even got to the palace yet," Luke boasted, offering them a goofy smile as he leant on the back of Clary's seat. "To be honest, I was starting to wonder if you'd even wake up before we reached it, Miss Clary."

The redhead scoffed loudly at that. "Hey!"

With the plane grinding to a gentle halt, Alaric - a tall man with greying hair and a muscular frame - joined the group at Luke's side. "Joining us will be two members of the Court, who are mostly here to receive you. They'll act as your guide over the next few weeks while you stay with us at the palace," he explained. "Once we reach it, they'll show you to your rooms as it's quite late and I imagine you'll both be tired."

"We'll be chauffeuring you to the palace as a precautionary measure." Luke added quickly. Clary could feel her body tense as he spoke; why had she and Tessa been summoned if they weren't going to be completely safe? Sure, living in New York certainly wasn't sunshine and rainbows, but Luke made it sound like they'd just been airdropped into a warzone.

Alaric shifted across the plane towards the door, pressing a button to release it. Clary and Tessa both stood simultaneously, gathering up their things into their respective bags and attempting to wake up their legs. For Clary, she felt drunk with exhaustion; she practically stumbled out of the plane. It was obviously fairly dark outside, but in the dim light she could see two figures standing several metres away from the plane. They were both female, but that was all Clary could gander about them.

Ushered forward by the older men, Clary and Tessa were guided towards the two newcomers who also stepped forward to greet the foreigners. Luke stifled a small cough to attain everyone's attention. "I present to you Miss Isabelle Lightwood and Mrs Charlotte Branwell of the Royal Court," he announced. "Ladies, I present you to Miss Clarissa Fray and Miss Theresa Gray."

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance," the smaller of the two - Clary assumed Charlotte - announced with a beaming smile and a heavy English accent. "On behalf of the Court, we welcome you to Idris."

Rather than wholly focusing on Charlotte, Clary found herself drawn to Isabelle. Although she didn't keep up with the royal affairs, she knew this girl to be one of the most well-known members of the Court, specifically as one of Prince Jace's closest friends. Merciless and outspoken, she wasn't one that the redhead wanted to get on the wrong side of; rumour had it that she packed a mighty punch.

Another thing about Isabelle was that she was impossibly beautiful. Ebony tendrils reached her slim waist, contrasting against her pure snowy skin. Dark brown eyes - the colour of black coffee - cast a critical opinion over the newcomers as she pondered what exactly to make of them. After all, they paled in comparison to her; neither girl had come from the same life of luxury and finery, and the contrast in clothing reflected that. Isabelle was wearing a long gown of cornflower blue silk that hugged her curves in all the right places, with the skirt coming out at just below her hips. Cherry red lips and smoky eyeshadow completed the look, framing her neat face and accentuating her flawless facial features. In Clary's mind, Isabelle looked like a doll she would've aspired to look like when she was a child.

The dark orbs she'd focused on suddenly snapped up in her direction, with Isabelle pouting thoughtfully. "You're Clarissa, right?" she asked, pressing her hands on her hips.

" _Clary_ ," the redhead corrected irritably, but she let out a tiny gasp and covered her mouth with her hands when she remembered who she was speaking to. "Oh my god I'm so sorry-"

Much to her surprise, the young woman smirked in response. "I hope you're not going to address the Herondales like that, otherwise I've got _quite_ a task on my hands. Luckily for you, _I'll_ be the one saving your butt, because I'll be your guide around here for the next few weeks."

Clary's emerald eyes widened in disbelief. What were the odds of her being under the wing of Isabelle Lightwood? She desperately needed to pinch herself to convince herself that this wasn't some wild fantasy she'd concocted in her active imagination; why was she among these aristocratic goddesses?

A sudden loud beep of a horn shook her to her core, alerting her to the fact that Luke had grabbed his truck. "Let's get going!" he called cheerfully.

* * *

 _jace pov_

"Can I come in, Your Highness?"

Jace bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from screaming. What business did Magnus have coming into his room at this godforsaken hour? "If you have to." he grumbled, sitting up on his bed and turning the lamp on next to him.

The advisor - donning an emerald green silk shirt and plain black trousers - stepped into the prince's bedroom and gently shut the door behind him with a click. "I just wanted to check on you ahead of everything," he explained. "You won't be part of much until the day after tomorrow, but-"

"Part of much?" Jace had to force a laugh down his throat. "You're forcing me to entertain a group of random strangers and then _marry_ one of them while the whole world watches!"

"It's for your own good, Your Highness." Magnus sighed softly.

"No, _you_ don't get to say that to me. They say that to dogs who are being euthanized. They _don't_ say that to _forced_ marriage." he spat, surprising himself with the venom in his voice.

The young man bit his lip anxiously; Jace knew he was being exceptionally nasty to their family friend, but currently he deserved every bit of it. "We're not forcing you per say. The choice of which girl you want to be with will ultimately be yours; we won't interfere with any of your decisions," He paused momentarily as he contemplated what to say next. "I know it seems like the end of the world right now, but this process isn't supposed to be painful. With some luck, you'll end up falling in love with one of these girls, and love is such a beautiful thing to have in your life."

The young Prince scowled, crossing his arms over his plain white nightshirt. "When do I meet them?" he queried grumpily.

"Tomorrow night I'll be interviewing them so the public get a sense of who they are. You're welcome to watch; might help you out with conversation topics. The following day you'll get to meet them all properly and we'll go from there."

Jace stifled a yawn, hoping Magnus would take the hint. Much to his surprise, the older man just bowed his head quickly and shuffled out, shutting the door lightly behind him. _Thank God for that._

Flipping over onto his stomach, he snatched his phone up from his bedside table and pulled up Luke's contact and keying a text in. _Are you back yet?_

Being a member of the Idrisian Royal Family was a bit like living between two different timelines. The younger Herondales and some of the Court had mobile phones, though social media could be scarcely used. They wouldn't demystify themselves too much; as some of the highest profile people in the world, their security remained their top priority. Magnus was the only one exempt from this, naturally. Aside from this, some rooms in the palace were equipped with TV's (with Jace's bedroom being one of them) and most of the bedrooms had ensuite bathrooms.

However, as they had tradition to uphold, many more old-fashioned things remained. For instance, Jace had a lantern for travelling the corridors at night or in case of a powercut; all he needed to light the candle in it and he'd be away. With the exception of servants, everyone generally wore more olden-day clothes, although some took advantage of modern designs to spice them up a bit. Jace tended to stick to white blouses and black trousers, although he wasn't impartial to suits.

A soft beep alerted the golden haired man to his phone.

 **Yeah I've just got back to my office to tidy up some admin. Do you need to talk?**

 _If you're free then I'd appreciate it_

 **I always have time for you. Come on down.**

Fishing the box of matches from his drawers. Jace placed his bare feet firmly on the wooden floor of his room, moving over to his desk with the grace of a hunting lion. He struck a flame on a match successfully and placed his hand in the lantern in order to light it. With a flame gently dancing in the cool night air, Jace picked up his newfound light source and made his way to the door, gently shutting the door as he stood in the corridor.

Although Jace hadn't known life outside the finery of the palace, his home still sometimes felt like a labyrinth. Endless spiralling corridors suffocated him; there were few places he found escape from royalty.

After a short trek to the servants' quarters, the prince rapped his callused knuckles on the heavy oak door, taking the soft "Come in" as a signal to enter the room. Luke was naturally sat at his desk, though on Jace's arrival he rose from his seat and bowed respectfully. "To what to I owe the honour, Your Majesty?"

"Luke, you've practically raised me; you don't need to bow every time I come in the room. I won't take it from you." the young royal explained with a sigh, closing the door as he stepped into the office.

The older man offered him a sheepish grin. "Sorry. Force of habit," He proceeded to gesture to the wooden chair in front of his desk with one hand. "Take a seat. Do you want anything to eat or drink?"

"Just water, please."

Luke nodded and turned away towards the little sink in the corner of the room, reaching up to grab a glass from the cupboard above it. "So what brings you here tonight, Your Highness?" he asked with his back still turned.

Jace was incredulous. "You need to ask?"

The dark haired servant returned to his desk and gently placed the glass in front of the prince. "Your parents are concerned about you. They wanted me to check in on you, but I wanted to respect your privacy," he explained, running a large hand through his uneven hair. "I know this is all kinds of wrong - believe me, Magnus and I are _not_ on speaking terms right now - but you're just going to have to go into it with your chin up. You never know, you might take a liking to one of these girls."

"My so-called 'concerned' parents are the ones currently putting me up for sale like a prize pig! They don't give a _shit_!" Jace was almost screaming and his lungs were in agony. "I _never_ got a say in _any_ of this!"

"Believe it or not, the girls didn't either. We've been on strict orders against saying anything; they're totally oblivious to why they're here. Magnus is supposed to be dropping it on them in the next few minutes," Luke's voice was uncharacteristically bitter, but considering the circumstances Jace was hardly surprised. "He's dragged some of them thousands of miles away from their homes to play Cupid."

Rather than letting his anger get the better of him, Jace took a heavy sigh and took a sip of his water, opting to change the topic. "You brought a girl here, didn't you?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss that with you, Your Highness." Luke replied calmly, retaining his normal professionalism.

"Oh come onnnnn." Jace whined, watching his friend's face curl into one of amusement. "She's out of your league."

* * *

 _clary pov_

Clary had spent the last twenty minutes unpacking her belongings and adjusting to her surroundings. Her bedroom here was easily double the size of her one back home; it was the most luxurious room she'd ever set foot in. She was currently sat on the double bed in her pyjamas - an oversized grey t-shirt with Yoshi on the front that once belonged to Simon - and her hair free from the ponytail she'd put it in this morning. Her skinny artist's hands were fishing through her suitcase, taking out her art supplies and placing them on the white bedsheets with extreme care.

The bedroom was lightly furnished, but was still able to look elegant and regal. On both sides of the bed sat two dark oak bedside tables with great marble lamps adorning the tops; Clary had added a photo of her and Jocelyn on one of the tables. Directly opposite the bed, a sizeable plasma TV was mounted on the eggplant walls, nestled above a simple wooden shelf that held the remote and other small trinkets. To her left side and almost opposite the door was a wide window looking out over Alicante, accompanied by a wide windowsill that the redhead could easily sit on while she drew. Next to the window was a pristine white vanity table with a plush red leather stool. As well as having a series of small drawers for her things, three mirrors decorated with bulbs the size of ping-pong balls along the edges sat on top of the table. They weren't the only mirrors in the room; a few feet away from the vanity was a full length mirror attached to the wall. Almost opposite it stood a mighty oak wardrobe with two drawers underneath for other bits, with a red wine chaise lounge a nd a black wood coffee table in the middle of the two. In the very right corner of the room furthest from the bed was a dark brown door leading into the bathroom.

She was calmly sorting through her things until she was disturbed by a knock at the door, alerting her to lift her head. "Yeah?"

A young woman of maybe eighteen poked her head around the slightly ajar door. "You've been summoned to the dining room down the end of the corridor," she explained fairly robotically as if she'd been programmed to repeat the same message over and over. "Your presence is requested in a timely fashion."

"Thanks, I'll leave now." Clary told her with a nod, although endless questions were swirling in her mind. Who wanted to talk to her at this late hour? Why couldn't it wait until morning?

Reluctantly, she pulled herself off the bed and slipped out of her open bedroom doors, feeling goosebumps form on her exposed legs as she entered the slightly cooler corridors. The maid who had been in her room a few moments prior was making rounds to the other bedrooms on the corridor, igniting further curiosity within Clary. _Are there others like Tessa and I?_

Trailing absentmindedly to the end of the long carpeted straight, she went through the open double doors, wincing as her feet suddenly touched cold tiles. Although she'd inwardly cursed at the sensation, her eyes widened when she glanced down and realised that she'd stumbled upon the craftsmanship of an artist. Dotted amongst the hexagonal white tiles were grey herons - clearly there to symbolise the royal family - in flight. The mosaic was truly beautiful and Clary was envious of who'd created such a masterpiece; she didn't get on with any artistic mediums that didn't involve drawing or painting.

"Clary!" Tessa's voice rung out clearly, pulling Clary out of her thoughts. Her newfound friend was waving frantically at her from the large wooden table in the middle of the room, perching on its corner. She was sitting in simple baby blue button-up pyjamas, her chestnut waves gathered up in a low messy bun. The redhead smiled at her and joined her. "Do you know what this is about?"

Much to her dismay, Tessa shook her head. "Afraid not." she sighed.

They continued to make idle chatter as Clary became aware of the other young women in the dining room. Many of them were clad in somewhat skimpy nightwear, varying from silk nightgowns to strappy vests with tiny shorts. Many of them were far curvier and had almost supermodel bodies; Clary felt mildly self-conscious in Simon's baggy Yoshi shirt on her childish twig body; she wrapped her pale arms around herself in an attempt to hide herself from their menacing glares.

"Thank you all for coming here so late, darlings!"

Tessa dug her elbow into Clary's hip. "It's Magnus Bane!" she hissed under her breath.

When she lifted her head towards the entrance, she shared her friend's shock as the very man himself appeared before their eyes. He was standing in an emerald silk shirt and plain black trousers, which was unlike him considering all the flamboyant outfits he usually paraded around in. His feline features were bright and jubilant in spite of the late hour. "I'm here with you tonight to clear up all confusions as to why you've been summoned here. I appreciate that some of you have been on planes for most of the day so I'll be brief."

"Please do." a woman with very pale blonde hair pleaded politely, her sea green eyes mirroring Clary's own exhaustion. By listening to her accent, Clary guessed that she was from the West Coast, potentially California.

Magnus flashed her a smile before continuing. "Now, you've all been called here for exactly the same reason. You've been randomly selected following extensive background checks for an exciting opportunity that'll change your lives forever," he explained. "An opportunity has arisen for one of you lovely ladies to be closely involved with royal business-"

A gasp of delight enveloped the room, although Clary was sceptical. This was all too vague, all too good to be true.

"For the next few weeks, you'll be involved in a friendly competition against each other. It'll require a lot of guts and spirit to get to the top - especially as it'll be televised worldwide - but I think you'll all appreciate the reward the winner will receive."

 _I mean, money would be great. I could look after my mom properly. Everything would be perfect._

"Your prize will be the key to Prince Jace Herondale's heart as his Princess and later Queen!"

Clary's stomach dropped.

She'd been flown thousands of miles away from home - abandoning her mother in the process - to win a forced marriage to the narcissistic and egotistical manwhore of a prince? He'd slept with more women than she'd eaten dinners, and now she was expected to compete to share his bed?

Magnus' words became a blur after that bombshell. Her heart was hammering out of her chest, her lungs struggling to cope with the sudden lack of air. She could feel her body tremble, but at the same time she was completely frozen in time; she couldn't move a muscle. It felt as if everything around her was falling apart, with her body dying with it. She had no way of escaping this nightmare.

As soon as she made out the word "dismissed", the redhead half-ran half-dragged herself down the corridor, blinking tears furiously from her eyes as she desperately seeked refuge in her unfamiliar bedroom. When she finally found her room, she tore the door open and slammed it shut defiantly, collapsing onto her bed in an exhausted heap as she finally let tears rack her body. She screamed into the sheets, releasing all her built up emotions.

Once calming somewhat, Clary removed her suitcase from the bed and crawled under the covers, pulling them over her head in an attempt to blot everything about today from her memory.

This was the lowest she'd _ever_ felt.

* * *

 **I know the Jace POV was a bit fillery, but I feel it's important to remember that he's as much as a victim as the girls in this situation. Obviously this fic focuses more on Clary's journey in the competition, though his POV will crop up occasionally.**

 **Next chapter is probably going to be preeeeetty long because the show officially kicks off with interviews, so brace yourselves! Jace definitely won't meet Clary until the chapter after next; hold tight Clace fans :)**


End file.
